


Surrender: A Stucky Fanfic

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 11:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7889605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky through the ages, ending in present day with slight variations from the Marvel comic and movie universes. (And, of course, romance.) I tried to be as historically accurate as possible and ended up doing quite a bit of research. Some parts inspired by thebrotherswinchester's "Too Close to the Sun." Extra points for those of you who can figure out which chapter titles are named after songs in the Captain America movies' soundtracks. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender: A Stucky Fanfic

**Author's Note:**

> So this was literally my first fanfic and I posted it on another fanfic site but just wanted to see how it would do here. So it's kinda crap. And I was too lazy to put it into chapters, so it's sooooooo long. Yeah. I'll go now.

Surrender: A Stucky Fanfic  
✦✦✦  
Before:  
✦✦✦

Steve and Bucky. Bucky and Steve. It had been that way for almost as long as Bucky could remember.  
Almost.  
The first time he had ever seen Steve, Bucky had been towing his rusty little wagon down the streets of New York on the way home from school, collecting cans and pieces of scrap metal that shone in the evening sun. He was in the part of the city where everything was faded: the bricks, the street signs, even the people. So the shockingly bright blond of Steve’s hair had stood out. Bucky had turned the corner and there he was: a small boy reading a tattered comic book behind the Kensington factory. He sat on an overturned trash can, his bare feet dangling a foot off the ground, and from this angle Bucky could see his too-slim waist, could count five ribs on each side poking through his shirt. But that wasn’t uncommon. “Hey!”  
The small boy looked up at him with large, bright eyes. He frowned ever so slightly, which cast shadows on his nose and angled face.  
“Would you please keep your voice down?”  
“Why? Whatsamatter?” Bucky’s voice had been an 8 on the loudness scale his teacher always talked about. Now it was a 6.  
The small boy looked around, frowning some more, and held a finger to his lips. Rude. Bucky purposely dropped the handle of his wagon so that it would hit the street with a clang, which made the small boy visibly wince. Smirking, Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered forward.  
“Whatcha’ doin’?”  
The small boy held up the comic book.  
“What do you think?” Smartass.  
Bucky rolled his eyes to high heaven. “Besides that!”  
“I’m trying to finish this issue before Hutch Kegley comes.”  
Bucky swung himself up and onto the trash can next to the small boy, peering over his shoulder at the faded pictures.  
“Who’s Hutch Kegley?”  
The small boy sighed, and it made the pages flutter. “He’s a bully. He’s taken a lot of my comic books.”  
Why would the small boy still come here if Hutch took his comics? Bucky voiced this question and the small boy sat up straighter, which made him come up to Bucky’s shoulder.  
The small boy must have seen the confusion on his face, because-  
“I don’t wanna give him the satisfaction of knowing he scares me. Plus I have to wait for my ma.” He jerked a thumb behind him at Kensington’s. “Her shift’s over in half an hour.”  
“What time does Hutch come?” Maybe Bucky could do something about it.  
The small boy’s face wrinkled up, “Why?”  
Bucky shrugged, his shoulders moving under his too-small jacket and his thin sleeves creeping higher above his wrists than they already were.  
“I dunno. It just doesn’t seem fair. I wanna help.”  
The boy looked up at him under his bangs, and he seemed smaller than ever. “I can take care of myself.”  
Bucky didn’t answer, because he obviously couldn’t.  
The small boy squinted at the sky, and then scowled. “I still have twenty more minutes.”  
Oh. Bucky should be getting home, and the small boy said as much. But he couldn’t leave-  
Bucky made a split-second decision.  
“Well, I’ll be around here collecting,” he gestured at the scraps around them.  
The small boy nodded, and went back to his reading.  
Bucky collected his way through through that alley, and the one next to it, until he was a couple streets away, all the while thinking about the striking small boy, when he heard the clanging.  
The small boy had his comic book shoved into the back of his pants, and had his fists raised. A large, dark-haired boy was circling him, smiling. He seemed calm enough, but Bucky knew where that black eye was from, and his posture and the look in his eye reminded Bucky of the feral street cats he sometimes saw around here.  
Then the large boy, who was presumably Hutch, struck, and the small boy took it in the ribs. He got right back up, though, and Hutch laughed.  
“You just don't know when to give up.”  
The little boy scowled, sagging a bit,“I’ll give up when you leave me alone.”  
And that made Bucky rush forward, giving Hutch that right hook his da had taught him.  
“Pick on someone your own size, punk.”  
Hutch’s eyes widened, and Bucky got one good kick in before Hutch tripped over Bucky’s wagon and stumbled away.  
The small boy just looked at him, and wiped his bleeding mouth. Bucky’s face softened, and he stuck out his hand.  
“I’m Bucky.”  
The small boy still seemed unsure, “I told you I could take care of myself. I had him on the ropes.”  
Bucky gave a short laugh, surprised by this boy. No boys Bucky’s age were like him. He was...special.  
Bucky cocked his head, looking at how the small boy’s eyes shone, despite his blooming black eye. He could see the calculating look in his eyes, and was just about to stick his hand into his pocket and be done with it when the other boy shook it.  
His hand was small, unsurprisingly, and cold, but the way it felt...right, even then, made Bucky’s face flush.  
“I’m Steve Rogers.”  
✦✦✦  
Hutch Kegley was the first boy Bucky punched for Steve, but he was definitely not the last.  
✦✦✦

Bucky sat on his bed in a nest of blankets, watching the stars come out. The rickety fire escape just outside seemed to sway in the wind as Bucky peered through the streaked glass. Despite the late hour, the snow covered street was choked with people hurrying home. He yawned, turning to Steve, who lay on the threadbare couch reading. Bucky could see his large eyes and sweaty blond hair almost glowing in the moonlight streaming through the window.  
“Think it’s time, pal.” Bucky told his friend. Steve kept the light on ‘til the last possible second, reading for as long as possible.  
He shut the book and placed in on the nightstand patiently.  
“Hey, Buck.” His forehead was slightly creased, the way it was when he was thinking about something.  
“You know all those heroes?” He gestured slightly to the book on the bedside table. “They all have best friends to go on adventures with and watch their backs.” He paused, as if waiting for something.”  
“I guess so, pal. I’ll have to take your word for it.”  
“It’s kind of a necessity. You have to have a best friend.”  
“Ok. So what?” Bucky ran a hand through his dark hair.  
Steve’s face fell, and Bucky knew he had killed it. Whatever “it” was.  
“Nothin’.” Steve turned away from him to face the cushions, and gave a soft little sigh. That little sigh got to Bucky, stuck its shovel deep into his heart and dug a small hole. He shifted, sitting up more.  
“No, tell me.” Steve was Bucky’s...responsibility. No, that was the wrong word. People always thought that Steve needed Bucky, needed Bucky to protect him from the 5th grade bullies, needed Bucky after his ma died. But it wasn’t like that. Steve didn’t need anyone, and Bucky was terrified that one day Steve would realize that and leave him in the dust.  
“We're best friends, right?” Steve blurted. The surprise on Bucky’s face must have been evident, because Steve flushed dark red. To reassure him, Bucky gave him a big, toothy grin. He wished he could give him more, ‘cause Steve deserved so much more, but-  
“Yeah, Rogers,” was all Bucky could say. “'Course we are.”  
They smiled goofily at each other for a second, and then the cold got to Bucky and he flopped back down and beneath the sheets.  
“Night.”  
“Night, Bucky,” Steve whispered into the dark, and something seeded in that little hole in Bucky’s heart and began to grow.

✦✦✦

Two years later, despite Bucky’s secret worries, Steve continued to let Bucky stick around. Even though loads of kids at lunch wanted Bucky to play ball with them, Bucky and Steve did something much better. Steve was the mastermind behind their games: ever since his ma had died, Steve had been obsessed with Greek mythology. Whenever he had the chance, he spewed facts about Perseus, Heracles, and all the other heroes. And those facts evolved into their game, though sometimes Bucky worried they were too old for it. While the other kids played kickball or wall ball, Bucky and Steve went on quests and adventures, vanquishing evil and protecting the innocent. Sometimes the games were even continued after school, and Bucky and Steve would run and hide behind cars and trash cans. They lept over subway grates full of dirty snow and took the back alleys back to Bucky’s apartment. They’d get home late, sneaking up the fire escape and through Bucky’s bedroom window. Steve would leave his trademark piece of armor just under the low windowsill: his garbage can lid shield, and the two would pretend sleep until they did fall fast asleep, dreaming of their glorious adventures. Some cold nights Steve would slip into Bucky’s bed, and they would sleep curled up, foreheads pressed together, but shivering nonetheless.  
All the games were based on Greek mythology books that Steve had gotten from the library, but the summer they turned thirteen, Steve was sent an old Greek mythology book from his great-aunt Mary. Bucky came over one afternoon to find Steve reading it, and when Steve instantly looked up, red faced and flustered, Bucky knew something was up.  
“What’re you reading? From that guilty look on your face it seems like it might be porn.” Bucky gave him his trademark mischievous smile.  
Steve flushed even darker, and he closed the book and hopped off the sofa. “Don’t be silly, Buck, you can’t read porn.”  
“Then what is it about?”  
Steve looked around and held the book tightly, beckoning Bucky closer.  
“It’s about Apollo,” he swallowed, “and his lover, Hyacinth.”  
Bucky frowned. “Okay. So?”  
Steve watched Bucky carefully, leaning so close to Bucky that Bucky could feel Steve’s breath on his face.  
“His male lover.”  
Bucky’s eyes widened. He hadn’t known that-that stuff like that happened. That it was okay-it couldn’t be okay-  
“I’ve done some more research, and Greek mythology features male same-sex love in many of the constituent myths.” Steve tentatively quoted the source of his information. “Only male and male, really, though…”  
“But. But does that happen-?” Bucky swallowed and watched Steve’s eyelashes flutter above his hollow cheekbones.  
“I don’t think it’s supposed to. I don’t think it’s okay. Should I-should I get rid of it?” Steve looked worried, and nervously clutched the book. Bucky knew he didn’t want to get rid of it, so he gave Steve a reassuring smile, and Steve was to distracted to notice that it was smaller and weaker than Bucky’s normal grin.  
“I think it’s fine to read it, just not...”  
Steve nodded, then smiled, and completely changed the subject.  
But something had coiled tight in Bucky’s stomach, and Bucky tuned out, feeling strangely guilty.

✦✦✦

The ninth grade soon came, and Steve and Bucky were inseparable. They didn’t play their games anymore, but Steve had kept his shield. Bullies bothered Steve more and more as the years passed since the much awaited growth spurt still hadn’t come for Steve. Bucky had no problems, and beside him Steve seemed so fragile and delicate. Steve was never afraid to throw the first punch, though, and that always got him into trouble.  
But though Bucky seemed just like every other boy in their grade, inside Bucky was never so sure. It started when Elijah kissed Rachel behind the school bleachers, and then all the boys ever talked about was getting into that girl's pants, or how so and so reached second base with so and so. The only one who never talked about that was Steve, and so Bucky thought Steve might understand.  
“Steve?”  
Bucky tried to bring it up walking home after school one day as they passed the docks. They had started going home that way so they wouldn’t be bothered by the school bullies. They hated the smell, but it didn’t bother Steve and Bucky anymore.  
Steve turned to him instantly, smiling slightly and looking him with those shining eyes of his. It was moments like these that made Bucky even more confused, and Bucky's chest always felt too small and tight, like his lungs ended right below his collarbone.  
Bucky searched his face for any sign of understanding, so he wouldn’t have to say too much, but to no avail.  
“D’you-d'you like any girls?” Steve flushed slightly, turning away from him to face the dark green water in the distance.  
“I don’t know Buck. Why? Do you?”  
“Well, not exactly. I mean, sometimes I wonder if we really need them…”  
Steve doubled over against Bucky, making both their bodies shake with his raucous laughter.  
“Oh, Buck, you will. One day, not too soon, I hope, but one day you’ll need a girl to marry. You’ll find the perfect one, though, and then you’ll have a house full of kids too.” Steve’s eyes twinkled.  
“I’d like to think that I’d be right next door, too, with kids and a wife of my own.”  
Bucky smiled back, even though it felt false. When Bucky had pictured the future, Steve didn’t live next door, and neither of them had wives. All Bucky wanted was Steve.

✦✦✦

Years passed, and thankfully no potential wives came along to take Steve away from Bucky. Bucky knew it was selfish, but he hoped it would stay that way for as long as possible. But then a new threat appeared.  
Steve had always had mild asthma, he just needed space to breathe. Bucky was normally always there to make sure he got that space, and a shoulder to lean on, if needed, but in the winter it was always worse, and sometimes Bucky wasn’t around.  
The winter of their 17th year was the worst. Bucky got home earlier than Steve that night, which was unusual. Steve had gotten into a better school, which was on the other side of town, and though Bucky’s ma drove him there in the morning’s, Steve had to walk home. Bucky’s mind instantly went to the thought of Steve lying unconscious in some back alley, an easy target for thieves or bullies. As kids, Steve was always the one who was picked on. So when an hour passed, Bucky grabbed his scarf and took to the streets. It was the heart of winter, and Bucky’s worry for Steve has filled every single inch of thinking space. He tried to make his brain cooperate, focusing on a single step at a time. It felt like the cold has punched right through him. Like it was a clenched fist around his heart, beating ice through his body with every rasping breath.  
If it was that bad for Bucky, then-  
Steve’s probably already dead. Each step became more panicked than the last, and as the sun set Bucky was pushing through crowds, describing Steve and asking everyone if they’d seen him. He called Steve’s name at the end of every corner, but to no avail.  
When the darkness finally set in, Bucky went through the back alleys, holding his key between his fingers just in case.  
“Steve!” His voice was high with panic, and everything was a blur. Is that him? No, it's just another goddamn trash can. The fucking trash cans make him think of Steve’s stupid shield from when they were kids, and his throat tightened as Bucky realized Steve had nothing to protect him now. “Steve!” A flicker of movement. This would be the way Steve would come. And there he was.  
“Bucky—,” A scratchy voice Bucky could barely make out in the night, but he saw the blood splattered on the snow and he full out sprinted.  
“Steve?” says Bucky was terrified. “Hey, Stevie, are you—?”  
Steve collapsed sideways into the snow, eyes fluttering shut, and Bucky’s heart beat out of his chest. The way home was a blur of panic.  
Steve, light as a feather in his arms and Bucky faster than the wind and melting in and out of the darkness with the shadows.  
Steve, dying in his arms and Bucky pushing faster and faster.  
Steve, now lying in Bucky’s bed wrapped in all of Bucky’s blankets and all of his clothes and even some of Bucky’s mom's scarves.  
Steve, unconscious against the pillows, but still breathing, and then Bucky falling asleep.

Steve didn’t wake until the next afternoon, and Bucky skipped his last day of school before winter break to hover anxiously around the apartment. Bucky’s ma left, and then Bucky was alone with his worries, listening so intently to the sound of Steve’s racking breaths that the start of the rain made him jump.  
Steve’s eyes fluttered open, his eyelashes so black against his pale, pale face.  
“How long was I out?” Steve attempted to stretch. Bucky couldn’t extend his arms in that bed; they’d run into the wall.  
“A day and a half.” This time Bucky was the one who couldn’t breathe. Steve sat up, but Bucky was over him in an instant, gently pressing him back into the blankets.  
“Let me up, I’m gonna go run a mile.”  
Bucky laughed, still leaning over him, and they both got quiet.  
“Don’t you do that to me again, Rogers! I was so fucking scared!” And then the tears came. Normally Bucky had the waterworks under control, and he had taught himself how to cry as quietly as possible when he was a little kid, but seeing Steve lying in the snow last night had just completely rattled him. Not Steve, though. Steve’s hand ran through Bucky’s hair, wiping them up just as they fall.  
“It’s fine, it’s gonna be fine.” For some reason Steve was reassuring Bucky, and it took forever. Steve looked terrified, probably because Bucky never cried. I love you so goddamn much. Bucky wanted to say. But only the tears came out.  
Two days later Steve was back on his feet, but something changed. He came home earlier every night, or spent his precious spare change on a pay phone if something happened, and even if the nights were warm, the morning sun always found them curled up together between Bucky’s sheets.

✦✦✦

Bucky’s mom had died four months ago, but Bucky still couldn’t stand being in the apartment. Everything smelled like her, reminded him of her. The despair was still bone-deep, and Bucky knew he would never completely get rid of it. Sometimes the despair was just too heavy, and thinking of Steve was the only thing that got Bucky out of bed in the morning.  
Steve had graduated and gotten a job on the other side of town, and Bucky continued working at the docks. It was at the docks that he found his escape.  
At the docks, there were some other young men who felt the same way as Bucky. Desperate men, who needed an escape as well. Easiest thing in the world to find 'em, take 'em into an alleyway or an old building for a quick—well, you know.  
Bucky got home later and later, only to find Steve with a steaming mug in his hand in a chair by the window. It became routine.  
“Don't tell me you waited up.” Bucky would say, and Steve would just give him a tired smile and reply-  
“I made you some coffee.” Bucky would run a hand through his hair and sigh, but he’d accept the coffee anyway. Steve never asked questions; Bucky had a feeling Steve either knew or didn’t care.  
Steve never asked questions when Bucky refused to sleep in his own bed, and instead slept on the sofa.  
Steve never asked questions, when, late at night, Bucky sometimes crept into his ma’s room and slept in her bed.  
Steve never asked questions when Bucky cried himself to sleep.

✦✦✦  
“Sorry, Buck.” Steve pulled the old dish rag soaked in hydrogen peroxide back as Bucky winced. Bucky shook his head, shifting. He was perched on the edge of the bathtub, Steve bending over him and his cut cheek. They had just come back after another fight, the second one this week, and both he and Steve had some nasty scrapes and bruises. The sharp smell of pure alcohol filled Bucky’s nose as Steve again leaned forward, close enough that his breath warmed Bucky’s face. “That’s a nasty one, Buck. I had him on the ropes. You didn’t need to step in.” Bucky gave him a disbelieving, lopsided grin.  
“Really, Stevie? Even you can’t take four guys at once.” Steve still had the sticky residue from the slab of raw meat he had been holding over his black eye. It made his eyelashes shine in the flickering bathroom light.  
Bucky had been afraid for him tonight. Had been afraid for both of them. Two on four isn’t exactly a fair fight, especially if one of the two is asthmatic and barely five feet. Bucky wasn’t about to tell Steve that, though. Hell, if anyone ever said anything like that to Steve, Bucky would be right there to kick his ass.  
“Thanks, Buck.” Steve’s hand lingered on the side of Bucky’s face, and Bucky couldn’t help the fact that his breath hitched. Damn it, Barnes. “Sorry, Buck.” Steve gave an apologetic smile. Bucky, a terrible human being, let Stevie go on thinking that he’d hurt him. Again, damn it, Barnes. Bucky sighed through his nose, gently moving Steve’s hand away from the side of his cheek.  
“Thanks, Steve, but I think we can both agree that I don’t need anymore nursing tonight.” Steve grinned, setting the rag in the sink and wiping his hands on his pants.  
“Okay, Buck. But seriously, if you hadn’t jumped in this never would have happened.”  
Bucky rolled his eyes, “don’t start-”  
“I know, Buck. We’ll get through this.” Steve leaned against the sink, and the look in his eyes, the absolute trust, Bucky just couldn’t bear. Bucky swallowed and nodded, standing up and gently prodding the cut on his cheek. Coulda been worse. Of course, Steve had it worse.  
Nothing ever seemed to stop Steve, though, and despite his small stature and sickly constitution, Bucky had always been convinced that Steve would save the world single-handedly one day. 

✦✦✦

It surfaced eventually, though Bucky tried as hard as he could to shove it down. It hung in the back of his mind every waking hour, dancing a drunken jig and taunting him like the devil himself.  
You love him. You’re in love with another man. You’re in love with your best friend.  
Bucky knew it was wrong. Knew it was twisted, and terrible, and that, if Steve found out, it would ruin everything. So of course it got to him. Bucky was as wasted and drunk as one can possibly be when one has to work.  
And sometimes it to got to him so much that he couldn't take it anymore. Needed a distraction.  
And needed something to ensure that Steve would never find out. So when they had the time and the money, Bucky would get a date, somewhere, anywhere, and take her out for a hamburger or a night of dancing. It killed him. It tortured him. But it brought him back from the deep end. Or at least saved him from drowning.  
He always invited Steve along, but Steve never seemed to want to come. The girls didn’t pay much attention to him. And that killed Bucky too, because how could they not see what Bucky saw?  
What Bucky loved?  
And some evil, evil part of Bucky would feel glad that no girl would ever dance with Steve, or go out with Steve, because it meant Bucky had Steve all to himself.

 

✦✦✦

Steve’s old obsession with heroes, valor and duty resurfaced when the draft started. Every male from ages 18 to 65 had to register in their district. Steve was probably the first in line in all of Queens. Bucky never understood how badly Steve wanted to go. How Steve seemed to want to throw away his life.  
Registering himself over and over again in different districts was the only illegal thing Steve had ever done in his life. But he could never pass the physical.  
And though he came home slightly shrunken into himself, so self-deprecated that it tore Bucky apart, Bucky thanked the lord that it meant Steve could never go away and die.  
“Why can’t I get the goddamn mark, Buck? Why can’t I get just one little IV-F?”  
Bucky would smile sadly, partly because he liked it when Steve swore and partly because he was glad they could never take Steve away from him, and shake his head.  
“I’ll never understand it, Steve. How much you wanna go. But they’re blind not to see the potential in you.”  
Steve would give him a small smile back, and Bucky would feel oh, so guilty.  
“Thanks, Buck.”  
And everything was okay until Bucky got what Steve wanted so desperately.

It was all a blur by the time Bucky got home. He had been sure, so sure, that he wouldn’t get picked. But on coming home from the docks, he had heard that the draft lottery had been held and his birth date had come up number 45.  
He knew in his heart that he would probably be leaving Steve for good.  
Godammit. Bucky punched the nearest inanimate object, trying to hold back tears. Was this God’s way of punishing him? Bucky tried as hard as he could to stop thinking about it. About everything.  
The Physical was a blur of cold metal, men’s voices, and then the thick black stamp that determined his fate.  
That took away his future.  
Even before he got home, the onset of unbearably heavy dread was decidedly to be drowned in as much liquor as possible.  
He didn’t know how many glasses he had had when Steve came home, but the fact that Steve looked like he had three pairs of eyes told him it had probably been too many.  
“Bucky?” Steve was alarmed, cautiously eyeing the half empty glass full of amber liquid as if it might suddenly bite him.  
“What’s gotten into you?”  
Bucky gestured vaguely at a slip of paper on the table, or in the general direction for it. He might have even gestured at Steve’s crotch for all he knew.  
The large black stamp swam before his eyes, and it was everywhere he looked.  
1A on the sofa. 1A on the kitchen table. 1A hanging on the coat rack.  
“You got in,” Steve clapped a hand down on Bucky's shoulder. “Hey, that's great. You'll be fighting the good fight.”  
Bucky snorted, all sloppy and drunk, and frowned at Steve and all the floating 1A’s. “Don’t ya give me that crap.” He sneered at the stove, which apparently alarmed Steve, because he put Bucky’s glass right in the sink.  
Bucky looked down, sadly and lately discovering, that, of course, he no longer had any brandy to drown his sorrows in.  
Steve pulled up a chair and sat right next to Bucky at the table, their knees touching.  
“Bucky, come on. We both know you’re going to kick some serious Natzi ass.” He paused, and Bucky just watched him. Steve seemed to glow, the edges of him kissed with moonlight. “Besides, I'll be over there before you know it.”  
“I'll never understand it,” Bucky said slowly, looking Steve right in the eye. “How you wanna go.”  
“They need all the help they can get,” Steve said.  
“Don't take this the wrong way,” Bucky mumbled, fumbling around in his chair and nearly falling out, “but I hope to God that you don't ever make it in.”  
Steve recoiled, stung, but Bucky reached out to cup the back of his neck and draw him in. He breathed in the scent of Steve, his shampoo, the smell of paint and for an insane, fleeting moment, Bucky thought about kissing him. It would be so easy. But Steve was staring at Bucky, the alarm was once more in his eyes, and Bucky knew that it would never, ever happen.  
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Sorry, Steve. It’s the drink. I'm just kinda fucked in the head tonight, is all.”  
“That's okay,” Steve relaxed. “You'll be getting your orders any day now, right? Let's find you a nice girl to take dancing, how's that sound? Maybe she can even send you love letters.”  
Bucky laughed, watching Steve’s perfect nose, because he didn’t deserve the kindness those eyes held, and his mouth was far too tempting. “You're somethin' else, Rogers, you know that?”  
“Well, considering how you've been sayin' that for ten years now, think I'd have to be an idiot not to know it,” Steve got to his feet. “C'mon, jerk, let's get some coffee in you. You're gonna be miserable tomorrow.”  
“What would I ever do without you,” Bucky drawled. What will Bucky ever do without him?  
As the smell of coffee filled the room, Bucky tried not to cry.

✦✦✦

Steve went to see Bucky off. The other soon-to-be soldiers had crowds of family members surrounding them and girls hanging on their arms, crying, but all Bucky had was Steve. And truth be told, it made it harder. Bucky half-wished Steve was clinging to him like all the other girls, so Bucky could have an excuse to hug and-goddamn it. Shoving those thoughts down, Bucky tore his eyes from Steve to the S.S. Belgic. It was a large and ugly ship, but anything that took Bucky away from Steve was ugly in Bucky’s opinion. A lot of the soldiers had already boarded, and the deck was a sea of tan and grey. Steve cleared his throat.  
“Buck. You have to go.”  
Bucky wanted to rip his uniform off, sling Steve over his shoulder and run to Canada, but he knew Steve would never forgive him for deserting.  
“I guess you’re right.” Bucky said hoarsely. He tried for a smile. “Don’t want to miss the ship and get sentenced to death for desertion.”  
Steve rolled his eyes. “That wouldn’t happen.”  
Bucky couldn't help it. He gathered Steve up one last time, breathing in his smell and trying not to think about how Steve’s head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck and how Steve’s arms just wrapped around his waist.  
“Buck.” Steve. “There’s something I need to tell you-”  
The crew started raising the linkspan, and Bucky was one of the few men left on the dock.  
Besides, he had a feeling he knew what Steve was going to say, and it would be too painful.  
Bucky slung his bags over his shoulder, his chest so tight he could barely breathe, and was almost 100% certain that he wasn’t coming back. About 550 men had boarded by the time the ship pulled away from the dock, and Bucky had to elbow his way through the mob (he felt like Moses parting the Red Sea) to get to the railing.  
But by the time he did, he couldn’t pick out Steve from the rest of the large crowd, and for some reason it was that more than anything else that made the tears come.

✦✦✦

Bucky had known New York winters were cold, but when he and the other soldiers in his infantry were drilled for months in the deep snow, he realized just how cold they actually were. This must be how Steve feels, Bucky thought on his thirtieth lap around the camp, and then mentally kicked himself for thinking of Steve. Almost everything made him think of Steve. The food. The beds. Even Private Charles Hayes, whose small stature and easy smile made him the first soldier in the 107th infantry that Bucky could stand. Though the freezing winter and hard training made him ache, made him so tired and so cold, (the type of cold that’s bone deep and no matter what you can’t get rid of), it was nothing compared to the ache that came from thinking of Steve.

✦✦✦

As a child, Bucky had been taught that killing was wrong, but after his first taste of war, he was a changed man. While infiltrating a German fort, Private Hayes was killed. One bullet to the knee, one to the gut, and one straight to the heart. And then when that German sniper turned around, went back to his buddies, and was aiming at another one of Bucky’s comrades, Bucky could see him with a smile on his face. At that point, Bucky had no problem with killing people. He got to the point where he hunted them. And if he didn't kill a German in a day, he felt he didn't do his job.  
When Bucky was first drafted, he was worried that he wouldn’t come home to Steve. But after killing hundreds of Germans mercilessly, week after week, he worried that Steve wouldn’t want the Bucky who came home.

✦✦✦  
After three months of being on the front lines, Bucky was captured, along with the other members of his infantry, and brought to a German camp.  
After three weeks of H.Y.D.R.A. torture, Bucky was a wreck. He didn’t know how he looked, but, looking at the other survivors, it was probably pretty bad. Living skeletons. That’s what his comrades looked like. They were so thin and weak they could scarcely walk, and had dry skin through which their cheekbones stood out; the look of men who had been buried and come to life again. Many of them were covered with blotches. One man had been apparently twenty-one, but before he died five weeks after being captured, he looked like a fifty year old man.  
Food was so scarce, and Bucky and his comrades were tortured with hunger so vile that some of them had a sort of dropsy and swelled up horribly, and died.  
Pretty soon all the German soldiers looked the same. They all sounded the same, same hard accents, same joyless, merciless voices. But one day a new one came: a short, round man with thick glasses. He looked Bucky over, and smiled. The kind of smile a wolf gives a rabbit.  
A german soldier puzzled over Bucky’s sweaty, panting form.  
“Sind sie sicher, Dr. Zola?” Strapped naked to the cold table, Bucky strained against the bindings, knowing that what they had already done to him was terrible, and what came would be worse.  
“Er ist stark. Er wird perfekt sein.”  
That was the first day Bucky was injected with Dr. Zola’s original Soldat serum. Bucky could do nothing about the screams that were ripped from him despite his wishes, the screams that shook the compound and rang through the surrounding forest. 

✦✦✦  
Pretty soon Bucky could no longer feel the needle pricks, or differentiate them from the feeling of his own hands against his face.  
Pretty soon Bucky couldn’t remember his own name, couldn’t remember why he was here, his family, his friends.  
As the pain grew and grew, twisting itself around and shoving into all the crevices of Bucky’s mind, of Bucky’s being, Bucky let it. Bucky let himself forget, let everything fade away, and concentrated on the most important thing.  
A small face, with thin blond hair and hollow cheekbones, large blue eyes with long dark lashes, pale skin and small hands. Steve Rogers glowed in the darkness, his small smile chasing away the pain, shining brighter than all the stars in the sky. 

✦✦✦

Zola left him alone after a particularly uneventful injection. Bucky was numb by then: no matter what Zola did he did not scream, did not react. Nothing happened.  
It was dark in the room Bucky had gotten so used to, darker than usual, and the effects of the serum twisted everything into Bucky’s worst nightmares. The glass cabinets oozed with blood, and the bricks writhed like maggots. The lonely bat high above screeched, and seemed to have the eyes of the devil.  
Bucky didn’t know how long he lay there, twitching and mumbling. He couldn’t care less, and didn’t, until he heard the quick, light footsteps. They were not Zola’s, who waddled, and was less graceful than a drunk walrus. No. The footsteps sped up, and then stopped. Bucky stopped paying attention. His last bit of hope had been snuffed out along with the lives of his comrades.  
But then a voice echoed in the room as whoever the footsteps belonged to entered.  
“Bucky?” It was no more than half a whisper. And then a face, a face long since seen, but definitely not forgotten, appeared over Bucky. It was paler than he remembered, as well as more chiseled, but it was so close that Bucky could feel his breath on Bucky’s face. Steve’s helmet’s straps dangled about his face, nearly brushing Bucky’s hair. No. It couldn’t be Steve.  
“Ohmygod, Bucky.” His hands ran over Bucky’s chest, larger and stronger than Bucky remembered, and easily pulled the straps free. Feeling began to return to Bucky’s arms.  
“Is-Is that?” Bucky was unwilling to voice the question, fearing that voicing what he wanted so badly might take it away.  
“It’s me.”  
“Steve.” An unfamiliar expression formed on Bucky’s face, rusty and weak from disuse, maybe a bit bloody, but there nonetheless. Steve smiled back and eased his arms, now corded with muscle, under Bucky’s shivering body. Steve forced Bucky’s body into an upright position. “Steve. Steve.” Bucky repeated this mantra over and over, a quiet rallying cry, and he and Steve managed to get Bucky standing up.  
Steve bit his lip, an oh- so-familiar gesture that Bucky could just make out in the darkness, and looked Bucky up and down.  
“I thought you were dead.” Bucky had to look up at Steve now, holy shit.  
“I thought you were smaller.” Bucky’s voice cracked.  
Gunshots rang out in the hallway that was silent seconds ago, and Bucky remembered that this was an army base, remembered that Zola was coming back soon, remembered that they would probably be dead soon. Steve was breathing hard, and memorizing the map hanging on the wall (he was so fucking smart), and all Bucky could do was stare at him. Stare and stare and stare. And curse his legs for the fact that Steve had to practically drag him.  
“C’mon.”  
They were moving faster than Bucky thought possible, but it was still too slow.  
“What happened to you?” Bucky was still staring. Steve gave him a small smile and adjusted Bucky’s arm, which was dangling in an awkward position.  
“I joined the army.”  
Bucky groaned and slipped out of Steve’s arms, bent over but walking by himself now. Steve had his hands out, like he was ready to catch Bucky, but Bucky limply waved him off.  
“Di-did it hurt?” Bucky’s body racked with shuddering breaths, but he was keeping up with Steve.  
“A little.” Steve shrugged, and Bucky gave a doubtful snort. He was pretty sure it felt like Zola’s serum. In fact, it was probably something similar to the Soldat serum.  
Except it worked.  
“Is it permanent?” They turned the corner, Steve going first.  
“So far.”  
They reached the end of the hall and took the stairs two at a time until they were on the wrought-iron catwalk. Bucy didn’t notice the patriotic shield Steve had been carrying the entire time until Steve threw it up to cover himself and Bucky. The explosion racked the catwalk, and the shrapnel bounced off Steve’s shield with a clang. The air was choked with smoke, offensively musty, acrid, and overpowering, making their eyes water and lungs burn, and the firelight made Steve’s eyes look purple.  
“C’mon.” Steve repeated, and he grabbed Bucky’s hand. They still fit perfectly, though everything had changed, and Steve’s new calluses (well, new to Bucky) tickled Bucky’s sweaty hand. They kept running until they heard it. The voice that somehow carried over the din.  
“Captain America!” At the sound of that voice Bucky almost lost his shit. The heavy German accent made Bucky’s legs turn to jelly. It was him. The one in charge of the entire H.Y.D.R.A. operation. Bucky only met him once, but in that time Johann Schmidt made Bucky scream more than all Zola’s injection’s combined.  
Schmidt and Zola were hazy figures on the other side, the side Steve and Bucky were trying to get to, their edges kissed by smoke and firelight.  
Schmidt leaned on the iron railing, waving a hand in greeting as if they were long-lost friends seeing each other from across the airport.  
“How excitink!” Schmidt and Zola made their way slowly towards Steve and Bucky.  
Schmidt gestured with his hands again. “I am a great fan of your films.” Zola laughed at that like it was the funniest joke he ever heard. They were in traditional H.Y.D.R.A. uniforms: all black leather with the H.Y.D.R.A. symbol in thick red thread. Zola was wearing an overcoat that dragged behind him and must have been very warm, for his face was bright red and his glasses were covered in perspiration. The edge of his coat sparked, and Zola jumped. Schmidt turned and laughed, but quickly spun back to Steve and Bucky.  
Schmidt looked Steve up and down like Steve did to Bucky minutes before, except this time there was no warmth, no worry, just stone-cold calculation.  
“I see Dr. Erskine sukceetet.” He laughed again. “But I vas his greatest sukcess!”  
They met in the middle of the catwalk, Zola behind Schmidt and Bucky behind Steve, and then the shit really hit the fan.  
Schmidt grabbed the edge of his face and pulled it off in one fluid motion. Pulled off his face!  
Bucky’s jaw hit the floor and he probably whimpered a bit, but Steve was unfazed at the raw, red tissue, sunken eye sockets, and slitted nostrils of Schmidt’s face.  
“You don’t have one of those, do you?” Bucky’s voice was way higher than normal.  
Steve shook his head, looking like a Roman statue: all harsh lines and perfection. His muscles rippled beneath his tight shirt and Bucky could barely stand. This new Steve knocked the breath out of him and set his heart skipping even more than the last one did!  
Zola, the fucking pig, pushed the large red button behind him and the catwalk retracted.  
Schmidt leaned on the railing, smiling smugly, as he was quickly shuttled backwards and the distance between him and Steve increased until Bucky knows they won’t make it across if they jumped. The fire danced below, and Schmidt’s smile widened.  
Suddenly, an even larger explosion boomed below, and Schmidt and Zola ran to the waiting elevator.  
Steve’s face contorted as his knuckles whitened, he was gripping the railing so hard that it snapped. Even Captain America can’t beat those odds.  
He turned abruptly, racing up the nearest stairs even higher and higher, until they reached the highest level. It was about thirty five feet to the other side: thirty five feet of railing that Bucky is sure Steve wants to walk across.  
“Holy shit.” Bucky barely had time to mutter hoarsely as Steve hoisted him over the railing and onto the narrow walkway.  
“Easy does it!” Steve steadied Bucky, and watched as Bucky began to inch across.  
“Holy shit, Steve!” Bucky forced himself to keep his eyes on the end of this iron-death-tightrope.  
Shuddering, shaking, inching his way along, all Bucky could hear was his beating heart and all he could feel was each minute explosion below that shook the footway.  
The world spun and went out of focus again and again, and everything blurred as sweat stung Bucky’s eyes. He didn’t move to wipe it away, though, because he needed his arms to balance.  
“C’mon, Buck.” Steve was stock still, as if afraid that any move he made would shake the footway. Bucky was glad he didn’t take the risk.  
It felt like a year until Bucky reached the railing, and he grabbed it and swung up and over, his feet back underneath him on the other side before you could say “acrophobia,” which Bucky would probably have if he survived this.  
He grinned despite himself, and turned back to Steve, looking over at him from underneath sweaty bangs.  
“C’mon!” But just as Bucky yelled that fatal conjunction, another explosion shook the iron-wrought structure. It knocked Bucky backwards, and then made the walkway shake free.  
NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo!  
Both Bucky and Steve watched as it fell in seemingly slow motion, and then disappeared into the flames below. Bucky watched Steve’s shoulders sag, watched him shrink into himself, and could see the gleam of self-sacrifice in his eyes.  
No.  
“There’s got to be a rope or something!” Bucky was hyperventilating but he couldn’t help it.  
“Just go!” Steve’s jaw was set. “Get out of here!”  
Bucky was light headed, but he slammed his fist down onto the railing, face contorted.  
“No, not without you!”  
Steve shook his head, breathing hard. Bucky watched, hanging over the railing, as Steve backed up.  
Steve flinched, taking a deep breath as another explosion rocked the building. Bucky’s eyes widened as Steve started running, arms swinging.  
And jumped.

✦✦✦

Somehow Steve had found more survivors. It was a massive jailbreak: about fifty men. They got out of that H.Y.D.R.A. base without much trouble; most of the German soldiers had made a run for it with Schmidt and Zola. They were a sight to see: the stronger supporting the weak, all with rifles in their hands and heads held high. Some, though, were so weak and ill they could hardly hobble along, and those had to be half-carried. Steve was determined that none would be left behind; they were so close to freedom at the very threshold of a new life on this side of the line.  
Steve led the way, Bucky at his side. As they marched confidently through the forest, in formation, Bucky was struck again by how much had changed. Here he was, following the very man he had thought would never make it to the army.  
It didn’t take long to reach the camp. The forest soon broke, the trees becoming sparser and sparser, and they stepped once more onto true American soil.  
As they marched into the camp, the troops parted for them like Steve was Moses parting the Red Sea.  
“Let’s give three cheers for Captain America!” Bucky raised his fist, and all the awestruck soldiers raised theirs.  
Not everyone was that happy; in fact, Colonel Phillips was pissed. He paced back in forth by his typewriter, knocking things over with abandon.  
“What in the hell made you think you had the clearance to do that?” The Colonel’s mustache jumped angrily. His hands quivered on his now-empty beer mug.  
“I’m a Captain, aren’t I?” Steve gave Bucky a smile, one that lit Bucky’s insides on fire. The Colonel had to smile at that, running a hand through his hair exasperatedly. I mean, who couldn’t resist Steve?  
That night Bucky slept in Steve’s tent, curled up underneath the blankets and Steve’s strong arms.  
✦✦✦

That didn’t last, though. Bucky awoke just after sunrise, but Steve’s bedroll was already empty. Bucky could hear voices outside: Steve’s was easy to identify, and he seemed to be arguing with a woman.  
“Next time you decide to barge into a H.Y.D.R.A. base alone without notifying any of your superiors, maybe you could keep in mind the fact that you are the result of a one-time million-dollar project. You have responsibilities.” The woman’s tone only seemed slightly flustered, but Steve was much angrier.  
“Is that all you care about? The waste of money?” Steve seemed to be pacing. He tended to do that when he was angry. “You don’t care about all those men who would’ve died?” His voice broke. “You didn’t worry about me?” The woman sighed.  
“Of course we care about all the troops you’ve saved, and we’re grateful, and of course we worry about you-”  
“We?” Steve was incredulous. “We, not you? Well that answers my question.”  
“Steve-”  
“No. If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Colonel.” Bucky’s heart sank. Steve obviously cared about this woman, and, opening the tent flaps, grabbing his jacket, he saw how the woman watched Steve storm off. She obviously cared about Steve too.  
She was pretty, with loose brown ringlets framing her face and dark eyes. Her bright red lips were turned down, and she fingered one of the many badges on her coat. She was obviously important, and that made everything worse.  
“So, you must be Bucky Barnes. Steve’s told me a lot about you.” She caught him by surprise, not even looking at him. Her voice was cool, and she either didn’t know that Bucky had heard her and Steve’s conversation, or didn’t care.  
“Yeah.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her intense gaze as she turned to him. She was obviously not impressed by what she saw, and Bucky’s ears turned pink. This must be what Steve had felt like at all those dates. Worthless.  
But who would pay attention to Bucky with a guy like Steve around? She folded her hands. “I think the Colonel wanted to see you as well.”  
Then she turned away, and Bucky knew the conversation was over. He had been dismissed.  
He nodded, even though she wasn’t looking anymore, and headed off through the snow in the direction Steve went.  
Colonel Phillips’ tent was towards the center of the camp, and was one of the largest. There were a couple desks in there, as well as a large map. A large typewriter sat in between piles of paper and envelopes, death notification letters, Bucky supposed. Steve was pointing at certain places on the map, where the H.Y.D.R.A. bases were, and the Colonel was nodding. They looked up when Bucky entered.  
“Ah, Sergeant Barnes.” The Colonel was tall with a long scar on the left side of his face and a large, but well groomed, mustache. His sleeves were pushed up to reveal muscular arms covered in dark hair, and large callused hands with hairy knuckles. His I.D. tag glinted at his neck below a large adam's apple.  
Bucky nodded respectfully. “Colonel. The, ah, brunette that Steve was talking to-”  
“Agent Carter.” So she was very important, was she? Hmmph.  
“Yes, sir, Agent Carter, told me you wanted to see me.”  
The Colonel nodded and motioned to one of the chairs. “Yes. Take a seat. You too, Rogers.”  
Steve and Bucky sat down next to each other. While Steve relaxed, like he’d been here many times (and he probably had) Bucky sat up stiffly and tall.  
“Now that you’re back from the dead,” the Colonel cracked a smile, and Bucky gave him a little nervous half-grin, “we’re not sure where to re-station you.”  
Bucky’s forehead creased, and he looked at Steve, who was grinning slightly. He could tell there was more.  
“Captain Rogers has told me about his little...team he has assembled, the ‘Howling Commandos,’ am I right?”  
Steve winced slightly at the name, but nodded and swallowed.  
“They’re the ones we send to storm the H.Y.D.R.A. bases and do, well, basically what Steve did yesterday, but under orders, with backup, and with an extraction plan.”  
Steve grinned sheepishly and turned to Bucky.  
“You’ll love the other guys. I can’t wait until you meet them.” Steve leaned forward back in his chair, raising his arms above his head and grinning, then giving an adorable little-half yawn. Bucky couldn’t help but notice the thin strip of midriff that Steve had accidentally exposed. From what he could see, it was all hard muscle and tan. Holy mother of God.  
Bucky swallowed, shifting his gaze quickly back to the Colonel, trying to pretend that he wasn’t way more turned on by that than by the poster of dancing babes posted on the Colonel’s wall. The Colonel waved a hand, rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes, I’ll let you and Rogers talk it out but I’d like to know the plan by tomorrow.”  
“Yes, sir.” Steve stood up quickly, saluting the Colonel, who nodded once again.  
“Oh, and Rogers? Stark wants to see you tomorrow morning. Something about adjustments to your uniform? Or maybe to your shield?”  
Steve’s eyebrows raised and he fidgeted like a small boy getting a brand new toy. Bucky couldn’t help but be reminded of Steve’s shield he used to carry when they were young, the painted trash can lid that Steve had been so attached too.  
“See you at dinner, you two.” The Colonel turned to the map and stroked his chin, mumbling to himself.  
Steve grinned at Bucky.  
“C’mon.”  
It seemed to always had been that way, with Steve leading and waiting for Bucky to catch up. Bucky wondered if he ever would.

✦✦✦  
It was a party that night, as much of a party as you can have in an army camp. The good, hard ale was brought out in barrels, and Howard Stark came in after dark on his personal helicopter. There was dancing, and music, and Bucky laughed so hard a couple times that the beer went up his nose, stinging all the way. He was introduced to the other “Howling Commandos,” (which every time someone said made Bucky laugh). There were about ten, and they were all good guys. Bucky especially like Dum Dum, a large man with a thick mustache above his easy grin and a bowler hat, who he drank a few beers with. He and Dum Dum exchanged stories: Dum Dum had grown up in Boston, and later joined the circus. Bucky in turn shared stories about Queens, and all the Howling Commandos were happy to hear stories about pre-serum Steve. Somehow Dernier had gotten hold of a harmonica, and he started tooting along until his face turned bright red, which made the two pretty barmaids he was sitting with laugh.  
Steve was talking up Howard Stark, excited about his new shield, when Agent Carter came in. Everyone looked up, and someone whistled. Bad call. Quick as a flash Carter had a rifle in her hands and had shot the drink right out of the stupid fella’s hand. The party got quiet, and Bucky was even more impressed with this woman. No wonder Steve was so into her. That thought made the booze in Bucky’s mouth turn sour, and he decided he needed a few more drinks.  
Halfway through his fourth whiskey, Steve wandered over and pulled up a stool, eyeing the glass in Bucky’s hand.  
“So. You ready to follow Captain America to certain death? Killing as many Germans as we can?” Bucky snorted, spewing whiskey all over the table they were sitting at and making Dum Dum laugh.  
“Hell no.” Bucky grinned, because the room was spinning from all the drink he had had and because was grinning at him like Bucky was the only thing in the world that mattered.  
“The little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to walk away from a fight.” Bucky poked his finger right in the middle of Steve’s broad chest, marveling for the thousandth time how solid it was, and grinning. “I’m following him.”  
Suddenly the world turned topsy-turvy and Bucky had spilled the last of his whiskey all over himself.  
“Whoa, Buck,” Steve said, and he sounded very amused and very, very sober. Bucky just laughed, wringing out his sodden shirt, watching the amber droplets collect in a puddle on the floor.  
“Dance with me, c'mon,” begged Bucky earnestly, because right now Steve was looking at him and nobody else, (meaning Agent Carter), and the drink had stolen all of his caution, sense, and worry. Steve smiled.  
“Aw, Buck. You know I’ve got two left feet.”  
“Maybe, but you know the jitterbug.” Bucky grinned, referencing one of the few times Steve had come out dancing with Bucky, and one of the even fewer times Bucky had gotten Steve drunk. It had ended with the two girls from their double date leaving and Steve and Bucky drunkenly dancing the night away.  
Steve couldn’t help but smile at that. “I sure do know the jitterbug…”  
“C’mon, Rogers, lord knows you’re his only chance of a dance all night.” Dum Dum chimed in, taking Steve’s still-full glass out of his hand.  
Steve sighed, shaking his head, and stood up, holding his arm out to Bucky.  
Heart speeding, Bucky’s face split open in a lopsided grin, and he led them onto the dance floor. Steve’s jitterbug was a little rusty, but seeing him, here, so close, the lights making his eyes shine, Bucky couldn’t have imagined anything more perfect.  
Bucky was a good enough dancer for the both of them, and leading them through it, Steve following along, only stumbling a bit here and there, they soon cleared the dance floor. Dernier played along on his harmonica, and as Bucky swung Steve around, god, he was so fucking close. Bucky could just reach up and kiss him, right there and then.  
But as soon as that thought slipped into his head, Bucky knew it was over. It had all gone too far. He fake stumbled, and panted, pretending to be too tired to continue, despite the dismay of the crowd.  
“Buck, you okay?” God, that voice. That face. It was all too much.  
“Yeah, Steve, o’course. Just tired, and the drink’s caught up to me.” He fake-stumbled his way across the dance floor, away from Steve and all the temptation he was for Bucky.  
Agent Carter resurfaced from the crowd and waved at Steve. It was a flirty wave, and it made Steve turn away from Bucky to grin at her, and Bucky’s heart sank even lower until it was deep in his stomach along with all the booze. Dear Lord, the booze. It was going to be a fun morning tomorrow.  
But Bucky couldn’t care less, and he wobbled over to Steve’s tent alone. The swollen moon overhead made Bucky’s shadow look small and hunched over, and it only made Bucky more depressed. Back in Steve’s tent, listening to to the sounds of the party, he tried to ignore how everything was Steve’s. Looked like Steve. Smelled like Steve. He slept fitfully, and registered halfway through the night that Steve never came back.  
But Bucky guessed that that was what he deserved.  
✦✦✦  
The walk of shame didn’t exist for Captain America, who got up before the crack of dawn, and of course Bucky didn’t mention it, so Steve’s one night stand went unnoticed. The Howling Commandos suited up, after learning the plan from Colonel Phillips, and hopped in the standard issue Army truck.  
“Why aren’t we using the stealth one?” Gabe Jones loved all of Stark’s high tech.  
“Because,” Stark explained impatiently, mustache bristling, “you’re such a small force, and by the time they see you, it will be too late.” He turned to Steve. “Am I right, Cap?” He winked cheekily. Steve grinned.  
It was like that the first few times: in and out, pure and simple.  
The gunshots and the clang of Steve’s shield over and over. Germans toppling like dominoes.  
No one injured, or if they were it was just bruises and scratches. Nothing that a few days rset couldn’t heal. They would celebrate afterward, getting more and more cocky and confident, which Bucky knew was never good.  
You can imagine the excitement when they heard the news of a train carrying Zola to Munich. By then everyone felt pretty much invincible, and only Pinky Pinkerton was worried about jumping onto a moving train.  
“It’ll be standard. Get Zola for questioning, get out.”  
“God, Cap,” Rebel Ralston was frowning, “just questioning?” Rebel had lost his older brother to Zola’s testing. “I know I’m not the only guy here who wouldn’t mind putting a few bullets in Zola’s fat ass.” Bucky wouldn’t mind ripping Zola’s guts out with his bare hands, but...  
“I know, Rebel, I know.” Steve eyed Bucky, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “God only knows how much I want to make him pay for what he did to you, Buck. What he’s done to everyone. But he has information we need. Information that can help us shut down H.Y.D.R.A. for good, and put an end to all this.”  
Everyone nodded.  
“Besides. We don’t know how we’re going to get that information, and if Zola needs a little help spitting it out...well, maybe the Colonel wouldn’t mind a few helpful volunteers coming in and securing it for him.”  
Gabe choked on his beans. “Aye, aye to that, Cap.”  
“Everyone ready? Let’s suit up.”  
✦✦✦  
It had started snowing, just enough to make their goggles cloud and their faces sting. Fingerless gloves were a necessity for grabbing and holding onto things, but everyone regretted it. Bucky had to constantly move his to keep them from going numb.  
“Right then.” Dernier swallowed and set down the radio they were using to listen to H.Y.D.R.A. communications. The had found a wide ledge on the side of the mountain, not too high up, and had set up the cable and pulleys. “The train’s comin’ round the bend. It’s movin’ like the devil, so we better get a move on.”  
Steve nodded, “we’ve got a ten second window. If we don’t time it right, then we’ll be bugs on a windshield.”  
Dum Dum laughed. “Let’s go, bugs!”  
Steve grabbed the handle of the zip line as the train came into view, and stepped off the ledge like it was no big deal.  
“Bloody hell.” Pinky gulped. “I’ve been on one of these as a little kid. It wasn’t too bad.”  
“Oh yeah?” Bucky gave him a shit-eating grin, grabbing the next handle and moving to the edge of the ledge. “Bet that one had a harness, though.”  
He swung off and down, a couple feet behind Steve. He could hear the others behind him, but not much else besides the train below and the roar of the wind. It made his eyes tear up and his cheeks flap crazily. Holy shit.  
They kept going until the train was just feet below them, a dark mass that seemed to be still, but Bucky knew that was because they were moving just as fast. Steve dropped onto the top of one of the cars with a muffled crash, Bucky waiting just seconds more to do the same. Hopefully the people inside would think the noises were just part of the storm. His heart racing, Bucky followed Steve, who was quickly but carefully making his way along until he found an opening. He did, and he swung down onto the rungs on the side, climbing down and opening the compartment door. The others locked and loaded, covering him. Bucky slid in after him, shutting the door as quickly as he could. The car was full of boxes of heavy artillery and ammo, but it seemed to be empty of people. Steve shot him a sidelong glance, obviously worried, (had they been played?) and Bucky noticed again how Steve easily pulled off that stupid patriotic look. Concentrate, Buck.  
They eased their way forward, Steve crossing into the next car, just as the door separating the cars slammed shut. Shit. Bucky fired at random, because someone was obviously there. Ducking behind various cargo, Bucky fired again and again.  
Steve was obviously dealing with something serious in the next car because it kept making dents in the door. The sniper targeting Bucky stepped forward again, and Bucky ran out of bullets. Fuck.  
Luckily, Steve got the door open just then, throwing him his pistol and nodding, and Bucky got rid of the sniper with one shot.  
“I had him on the ropes.” Bucky had his pistol ready again, just in case.  
“I know.”  
Just what they used to say after the stupid fist fights Steve would get into when they were younger.  
But then the sound of heavy-duty machinery firing up and-  
“Bucky! Get down!” Steve slammed into him, shield covering them both, and they were both sent flying backward from the impact.  
Bucky let a few shots fly, covering them with Steve’s shield, but he was again thrown back, this time out of the train car and into the wind. Oh god. Holy shit. Oh, no!  
No.  
No.  
The adrenaline surged through his veins like a carp through the river, but all he could do grasp at the empty air until-  
Bucky rammed into the side of the train with a force that would have knocked him out cold, if not for the absolute terror and fear that made him forget everything else, save for the rung.  
Bucky’s hands clenched that rung so hard he thought he could feel it crumpling, compacting, underneath his hands.  
Knuckles stark white, Bucky clenched the rung for dear life, but he couldn’t hang on much longer and there was a tunnel coming up-  
“Bucky, hold on!”  
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Bucky managed to get out through his clenched teeth. Sure, his muscles were stronger and he was more awake than he’d ever been, but this wasn't a situation where running hard for a long time was going to help. He could do this, he knew he could. He just had to think back to his training, but even that couldn’t have prepared him for this. Out here there was no safety rope, no soft mats to land on.  
All Bucky had was the rung, the wind and a long way down.  
But Bucky also had Steve, had Captain fucking America, so maybe he could survive this.  
Steve let out a shuddering breath, stretching out his arm, reaching, “Sarcastic to the end.” Everything was white and blurry, and Bucky couldn’t catch his breath.  
C’mon, Barnes, this is not the way you want to go.  
Bucky’s left hand slipped. Stupid fingerless gloves made his fingers numb.  
Steve lunged forward. “But this isn’t the end!” But it was.  
Though Bucky told himself he wasn't afraid, he screamed as he fell, and the whole way down all he could think about was how he was so fucking in love with Steve, so much that he could never even begin to explain the incredible ache and heat of it, and now Steve would never know.

✦✦✦  
After:  
✦✦✦

Pain. Cold. Dark.  
Wet.  
Sticky.  
Pain.  
Bucky squinted through the haze, “My arm…”  
Pain.  
A stump dragging in the snow next to him. Heavy. Bleeding.  
Pain.  
Arms dragging him back-back to-  
Terror.  
Dirty stone and red brick. Glass cabinets and shelves. Stained leather and metal chairs. And a certain wide, wrinkly face with droopy eyes, large spectacles, and an evil grin.  
“Zee procedure has already shtartet. You vill bekome zee new face of H.Y.D.R.A.”  
✦✦✦  
If Bucky was dead, then why was Zola here? And why did everything hurt so fucking bad?  
Maybe this was hell.  
It certainly would make sense.  
But why did Zola look so happy? Didn’t he deserve more punishment than Bucky did? I mean, Bucky certainly was no saint, but Zola had done terrible, terrible things-  
Then Bucky looked around, looked down, and holy shit.  
He was back in that chair, the one that looked like it came out of a horror movie, leather seat stained with blood and piss. Strapped in just as tightly, with all the metal...instruments surrounding him and Zola so close Bucky could smell what he had eaten for breakfast. And though Zola’s breakfasts were better than Bucky’s non-existent ones, they still weren’t the ones Bucky had had back at camp.  
Camp. Steve. The mission. And if Zola was here, then that meant that they had failed.  
Bucky sat up, ignoring the burning sensation in his side.  
If they failed-oh, god, Bucky hoped Steve was okay-  
“Er ist wach.”  
“Wir sind noch nicht fertig. Setzen Sie ihn unter zurück.”  
“Nein, warte.”  
“Hallo, soldier.” Zola smiled down at him. “Do you like your gifts?”  
It was then that Bucky saw his arm. Or the lack of arm. Oh, god.  
A prosthetic, made out of some sort of metal. One that he could...move.  
Bucky was surprised that he had survived the fall. And if this metal arm was one of Zola’s...gifts, he wasn’t sure he wanted the others.  
“What did you do to me this time?” Bucky gritted his teeth, his hands tightening on the sides of the chair.  
Only to find that the arm of the chair crumpled like a tin can beneath his metal fingers.  
Maybe this gift wasn’t so bad after all.  
Zola’s grin vanished as the straps holding Bucky snapped.  
“Setzen Sie ihn unter! Setzen Sie ihn unter!”  
Then the pain.  
And the darkness.  
✦✦✦  
“Желание. Ржaвый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. возвращение на родину. Один. грузовой вагон.”  
James Buchanan Barnes was gone. There was only the Soldier.  
Well, mostly gone. The Soldier had been trying to get rid of the scraps, but Bucky knew where to hide. He locked himself in and threw away the key.  
Those words had become his undoing. They turned Bucky Barnes into a killing machine. Into a monster.  
The best soldier knows how to follow orders. But Bucky was the better soldier, because he could not disobey.  
“Ready to comply.” The Soldier stood and grabbed the pistol offered to him by General Unwichtig. “What is the mission, General?”  
Bucky had been forced to kill victim after victim.  
They had no chance at survival. The Soldier, who Bucky was now, was an adept killing machine. 300 pounds of pure muscle, complete with metal prosthesis, probably a vibranium alloy, and no mercy. No feelings at all.  
“Zere is a new target. His name is Steve Rogers. He is part of zee elite vigilante group callet zee Afengers. Zhey are vis S.H.I.E.L.D.” General Unwichtig sneered. “Killen sie him, and schow S.H.I.E.L.D. how shtrong H.Y.D.R.A. has bekome!”  
Steve. Steve Rogers. For some reason that name made him want to smile, scream and cy all at once. Bucky knew that name-  
No. Steve Rogers. New target. Mission objective: destroy.  
“Mission received. Hail H.Y.D.R.A.!”  
✦✦✦  
Bucky sat in the wicker chair at an outside table of a small cafe in downtown Brooklyn. He casually sipped black coffee, playing with his pistol underneath the table.  
“Anything else, sir?” A blond waitress passed by.  
“No thank you.” Bucky waved her off, watched her go pale at the sight of his metal arm. He looked across the street. Target aquired. Steve Rogers. Accompanied by...(running facial recognition)...Samuel Thomas Wilson. Status of relations: friendship. Friends. Steve and Bucky had been friends once- No. Steve Rogers. Target. Mission Objective: destroy.  
“Cap,” Sam jerked his head to the left, the urgency in his eyes not reflected in his pace as he kept walking casually, “we’ve got company.” Steve didn’t look at Bucky, thank god- Yes. Target must not require the identity of the Soldier. Finally, something we can agree on, Bucky thought.  
A memory surfaced. Two men on a train. One is hanging on for dear life.  
Sarcastic to the end.  
What is sarcasm? Irrelevant. Mission Objective: destroy.  
Target is not wearing the proper attire for engaging in combat. Target’s weapon of choice does not appear to be in the general vicinity.  
Another memory surfaced. A small boy carrying a large trash can lid. A make-believe shield. We’re heroes, Buck.  
No, Bucky thought, you’re a hero. I’m a monster. Correction: soldier. We are the Soldier. Mission Objective: destroy Steve Rogers. Engage. Bucky lept over the table, pistol locked, loaded, and ready in seconds. A shot rang off, the bullet embedded in Steve Rogers’ shield. Target has somehow acquired weaponry. Steve threw the shield as Bucky fired again. The bullet again did not reach its mark, and the gun was sent flying. Seamlessly pulling another pistol out, he fired again and again, only to lose that pistol too. Sam waved at Bucky, passing overhead.  
“You’re welcome!” Samuel Wilson has acquired weapons as well. He now has the ability to attack from the air. Steve Rogers has vanished, probably hiding behind one of the nearby vehicles. Experimentally, Bucky rolled a small grenade under the nearest empty minivan. The explosion shook the street, but no one was affected.  
Another armed vigilante: Natasha Romanoff. Natasha. Bucky had met her before as well-Tackled from behind, her legs around his neck, Bucky slammed into the car behind him. Again. And again. Throwing her off, he landed a punch in the general vicinity of her jaw. The fight continued, and with each punch that didn’t land or bullet that didn’t hit its mark, the Soldier grew angrier. It was normally easy.  
And when it ended with the Soldier's mask falling to the concrete and him revealing his face, the Soldier almost lost control.  
“You know me, Bucky.”  
Steve! Steve! My friend! Steve! Bucky fought and fought against the Soldier, but there’s nowhere to go when you’re trapped in your own mind. Silence! He is not your friend. No one is your friend. You are the Soldier, and he is your target. Mission Objective: destroy.  
“Buck. Bucky!” Steve Rogers looked incredibly desperate. Vulnerable.  
“Who the hell is Bucky?”

✦✦✦  
Bucky was back in the chair, strapped in, trapped.  
“Vhy did sie not completen sie das mischion, Soldier?”  
He’s my friend, you son of a bitch! Let me go! He’s my friend!  
“I knew him.” Does not compute. Illogical. Does not-  
“Vhy is Steve Rogers not deat, Soldier? Did I not orderen sie-”  
“But I knew him.” Bucky began to panic. He strained against his bonds. Let me go!  
Does not compute. Illogical. Does not-  
Let me go!  
General Unwichtig leaning over him gave a dissatisfied noise, shoving Bucky’s head against the chair. The lights in the room flickered, and the other German soldiers in the room shuffled nervously. “He is too far gone. Vipen sie him. Shtart over.” General Unwichtig looked right at Bucky.  
“But sir-”  
“Dit you not hear me? I sait vipen sie him.”  
“Ja, sir. Right avay, sir.” Bucky’s heart had always jumped and cried out for Steve, had cracked and broken over and over for Steve, and he had just wanted it to end, he had wanted it to stop, but it didn’t.  
And now, as the compound shook with Bucky’s screams, it did. He forgot Steve Rogers. Again.  
✦✦✦  
“Желание. Ржaвый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. возвращение на родину. Один. грузовой вагон.”  
James Buchanan Barnes was gone. There was only the Soldier.  
“Ready to comply.” The Soldier stood and grabbed the pistol offered to him by the General. “What is the mission, General?”  
“Steve Rogers. Part of zee vigilante group callet zee Afengers, who are vis S.H.I.E.L.D.” The general seemed irritated, and recognition flickered in Bucky’s brain.  
But it was gone with the general’s next words.  
“Destroyen sie him.”  
“Mission received. Hail H.Y.D.R.A.!”  
✦✦✦  
Bucky’s face was swollen and bloody, and probably purple and green in some places. His eyes watered and stung from the wind up here, and he steadied himself with a hand on the wall of the helicarrier. The S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier was very broken and battered;the slanted deck (for landing) had completely broken off, and two of the four colossal fans had shut down. From the main deck, where he and Steve were, Bucky could look down and see all of New York, and the Quinjets that were circling the helicarrier, occasionally firing.  
Steve picked himself up again from where the Soldier had left him (the Soldier had hit him pretty hard), hands in the air.  
Does not compute.  
The Soldier did not understand why the man across from him in the helicarrier would not fight him.  
“We’re friends, Buck. I know you.”  
The Soldier gave Steve Rogers a right hook in the jaw. The Soldier liked the sound of metal on bone. Steve Rogers fell to his knees.  
“I’m not going to fight you, Buck. We’re friends.”  
“I don’t know you!”  
The helicarrier shook, and metal infrastructure fell from the roof, crushing the Soldier. Pain exploded in his abdomen, but the Soldier ignored it. All he knew was that he was trapped.  
Does not compute.  
Why would his target help him?  
Steve Rogers lifted the metal bars, freeing Bucky.  
“I’m not going to fight you, Buck.”  
Bucky was on top of him, metal fist slamming again and again.  
“You’re my friend.” Steve Rogers barely got that out, blood dripping from his mouth.  
“You’re my mission.”  
Bucky stopped, fist raised, because he knew this man.  
“Then finish it.” Steve Rogers breathed. “‘Cause I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.”  
Bucky watched as Steve fell, down, down, and followed his shield into the Potomac.  
He knew this man.  
This was Steve, who ran around carrying his trash can lid shield, jumping over dirty gutters heaped with snow and hiding behind cars, who never walked away from a fight, who worked his ass off all day long even though he could barely breathe, who would go out on the fire escape and draw beneath the moon, who comforted him after his ma died, who always laughed at his jokes, slept next to him in the dark in Brooklyn and in a dozen camps all through Europe, who always had his back, who had went to that H.Y.D.R.A. base alone to get him out, who was so brave, so honorable, who used to be the only thing that made Bucky want to get up every morning, and-  
And Bucky threw himself right after Steve and dove into the Potomac, knowing that maybe he didn’t deserve to live, but Steve certainly did.  
He left Steve there, battered but bleeding, on the banks the river. And he told himself that it was river water dripping down his face, but he knew in his heart that he was crying.  
✦✦✦  
He didn’t go back to the H.Y.D.R.A. base. He didn’t go back to Steve, either.  
He spent his days evading Steve and Sam, who he wasn’t ready to face yet, and his nights sleeping under the stars, staring up at the moon and taking some comfort in knowing that it was the same moon he had looked at so many years ago with Steve by his side, and though everything had changed, that moon hadn’t.  
He tried to pretend that he didn’t see Steve’s face every time he closed his eyes, or that thinking of Steve didn’t make his heart sputter and his stomach fill with butterflies, but to no avail  
For three months it was like that: running away from his past, but afraid of his future. Forcing himself to eat, because he didn’t really want to live.  
But he knew he couldn’t run forever. All of the Soldier’s killing caught up to him, and so S.H.I.E.L.D. finally caught up to him. Again, locked up. Again, trapped. Though this time in a seemingly glass box miles underneath the surface, with all his memories and all his guilt.  
But S.H.I.E.L.D. had made a mistake, and trapped in his cell, Bucky heard those goddamn words again.  
“Желание. Ржaвый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. возвращение на родину. Один. грузовой вагон.” Zemo made him mindless once more, but in doing so, helped him break out.  
And when the killing was over, Steve found him.  
Which was how Bucky found himself in this situation.  
A black S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued Chevrolet Malibu pulled up in a small airport parking lot, taking up three whole spaces despite its size. The driver’s-side door opened, and the owner of the small car was revealed as-  
Sharon Carter. The woman who had inherited many of her aunt’s traits: her beauty, her (though Bucky didn’t want to admit it) badassness, her...incredibly annoying ability to turn Steve’s head.  
Sharon got out of her car, the wind whipping her blond hair back from her face in a way that she probably found bothersome, and probably made her eyes water, but still made her look like a model in a photoshoot giving the camera The Smolder.  
“Damn, girl. You want some hot chocolate? It’s cold outside.” Sam jokingly muttered, obviously noticing the wind’s effect on Sharon Carter as well.  
“I’m not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Sharon half-smiled, looking up at Steve, who had gotten out of the car and was standing, arms crossed, facing her. He was wearing short sleeves, despite the temperature, and Bucky could see every bulging muscle from his cramped backseat.  
Bucky shifted uncomfortably, not just because of the growing tent in his pants.  
“Can you move your seat up?” His voice was filled with annoyance not meant for Sam.  
“No.” Sam didn’t even turn his head. Bucky shifted over into the middle seat with an irritated sigh and continued to watch Steve and Sharon through the slightly-fogged up windshield.  
“It’s low profile.” Steve rapped smartly on the hood of the pale-blue buggy Sam and Bucky were in.  
“Good,” Sharon turned back to her S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued Chevrolet Malibu and opened up the trunk, “‘cause this stuff tends to draw a crowd.”  
The small trunk was filled to the brink. On top of the pile was Steve’s shield, glinting in the gray light. Bucky could also make out Steve’s uniform and Sam’s wings.  
Bucky had to give it to Sharon-she had done it again. Goddammit.  
“I owe you again.” Steve shook his head.  
“Keepin’ a list.” Sharon looked away, pretending like she wasn’t loving every minute of this. Bucky rolled his eyes again.  
Then Sharon was looking at Bucky and Sam, looking at Bucky. But not the way the girls did back home, oh, no, more like Bucky was a puppy-Steve’s puppy-who had shit all over the house and chewed up her things. God, you’re annoying, her look said, but I have no choice but to tolerate you.  
Likewise, Bucky thought, gritting his teeth.  
“You know he kinda tried to kill me.” Sharon said, turning back to Steve and ignoring the fact that Bucky was right over there in the car.  
“Sorry.” A sheepish grin from Steve. Totally oblivious Steve. “I’ll add it to the list.”  
Sharon smiled with no teeth and turned back to the trunk, picking up Steve’s shield and slowly handing it over to him without meeting his eyes. Steve took it gently from her, and grabbed the rest of the equipment from the pile.  
“They’re going to come after you, you know.” Steve said, just as gently.  
“I know.” A firm nod.  
“Thank you, Sharon.” And Bucky could tell he really, really meant it.  
Another firm nod and closed-lipped smile from Sharon. Bucky noticed she had a dimple. Goddammit.  
And then Sharon leaned closer, closer-  
Fuck it. Bucky couldn’t take this anymore. Didn’t want to see this. But he couldn’t stop watching them. Watching them kiss. Watching their tongues slide in and out of each other’s mouths, their noses collide. Bucky wondered what Steve tasted like. Did Sharon like it? Bucky hated her. Hated the growing hardness in his pants. How could he be turned on by this? Bucky couldn’t take this anymore-  
Oh!  
Steve had pushed Sharon away! What? Wait-what?  
They were made for eachother, both perfectly gorgeous, perfectly strong, perfectly badass, perfectly perfect, and yet…Steve had managed to surprise Bucky yet again.  
Steve. Steve looked at Bucky. His eyes seemed to be apologizing, his eyebrows pulled tight together and his kissed lips frowning. What?  
And Bucky felt it. A flutter inside his fluttering heart, a different flutter. A flutter of...hope. Could Steve-?  
Bucky didn’t let himself finish that thought, he just shoved it away and locked it up tight. No, wait. Bucky unlocked it, turned it over and over. Was Steve-? No, wait. Bucky shoved it down, saving it for later.  
Sharon had pulled herself together. She pointedly not-looked at Steve. Not-looked at Bucky. Not-looked at Sam.  
“Sharon, I’m sorry.” Steve pointedly not-looked at her.  
“I have to go.”  
She was in her car and driving away before Steve could make a move. If he was going to make a move.  
Steve went around to the back of the pale-blue buggy, shoving his shield and uniform in the trunk. He opened Sam’s door and threw Sam’s wings and uniform into his lap, then shut the door again.  
“What the hell was all of that, Steve?” Sam wasn’t smiling.  
Yeah, Bucky wanted to say, what the hell was that?  
“I dunno.” Steve still didn’t start the car. “I dunno.”  
“Man, a hot babe makes a move, and you shut her down!”  
“It just wasn’t...right.”  
“Then what is right, Steve?” Sam rolled down his window. It was suddenly quite hot in the car.  
Bucky was quiet throughout the entire exchange. Steve’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. Open, honest.  
The question hung in the air, creating far more tension than the cut-short kiss had.  
Bucky looked away from the wide blue eyes and out the window.  
What was right?  
✦✦✦  
When it was all over, and Steve walked away from everything: his friends, his legacy, (Sharon Carter!) for Bucky. Bucky overflowed with the feeling he had always had for Steve, so happy, so eternally grateful, but he didn’t show it. He didn’t have time to try to understand it, and definitely couldn’t explain it to Steve, so he hid it. But soon they were safe in Wakanda, and Bucky finally had a chance to think about himself, and think about the future.  
✦✦✦  
One night, a couple days after they settled in, (King T’Challa told them they could stay for as long as they needed to), Bucky built up the courage to go knock on Steve’s bedroom door. Bucky needed to try and make things right, he owed the both of them, especially Steve, that much.  
But when the door cracked open to reveal a barefoot, shirtless Steve, smiling despite the late hour, Bucky couldn’t meet his eyes.  
“Hi,” Bucky mumbled, staring at the floor. He didn’t know where to begin. “Can I come in? I promise not to strangle you.” He tried to smile, but Steve seemed to take it seriously.  
“Of course,” Steve said, suddenly all business. Bucky sat on the edge of Steve's bed.  
“I’d like to be completely honest with you.”  
“And so would I.” Steve smiled gently, and Bucky’s heart wrung itself out like a dish rag.  
“I am so incredibly sorry, and so incredibly grateful-” Steve stood suddenly, cutting Bucky off, and walked over to Bucky to place his hand on Bucky’s leg.  
“No.” He Steve said, quietly and firmly. “You would have done the same, so there’s no need for that.” Steve’s hand was like a furnace, and Bucky was hyper-aware of it and how it made all his nerves jump.  
“But there is.” Bucky took a deep breath. “Please. Stevie. You need to know how grateful I am.” Steve shook his head.  
“I don’t doubt you, Buck. But there’s no need.”  
“Fine.” Steve seemed to relax at that, and it made Bucky realize how tense Steve had been. “And-and there’s something I need to come clean about. I’m not him. Bucky, I mean. Not completely. But I have most of my memories back, and I know how he felt then, and I know how I-I am and feel now.” Steve frowned slightly, inching closer.  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
“He thought about you all the time.” Bucky still talked about himself in the third person sometimes. The doctors he had seen had said it was normal, for a person had gone through such a traumatic experience. Bucky hadn’t told the doctors just exactly how traumatic it had been, but still... “Even when you weren't there. You were the reason he got up in the morning, the reason for everything he did. And what you’ve done for me now, and being around you now, it’s-it’s-” Steve’s eyes were widening.  
“Bucky.”  
Bucky couldn’t say anything else, so he changed tactics.  
“I’ve made a decision. I talked to T’challa, and I’m going to go back into the ice. It’s not safe-I’m not safe if anyone gets control of me, so I’m going back until they find a cure.”  
Steve swallowed. “Buck.”  
“I don’t know how long that will take, so I-I wanted to tell you-” Something welled up inside Bucky, spreading through his ribs, a certain kind of growing warmth he couldn’t quite identify, but he thought he knew what it was. He didn’t know how to describe it: how every time he looked at Steve he felt this bone-deep ache, he needed him, needed to protect him, to take care of him. Steve was all Bucky had, and if he lost him- Bucky had a mini heart attack as Steve got so close that Bucky could count his eyelashes.  
“Bucky.” Steve swallowed. His adam's apple bobbed up and down and his chin jutted out and-it was a whole scene. It was always a big scene. Bucky shifted his gaze from Steve’s delicious throat to Steve’s tantalizing mouth to Steve’s beautiful, serious eyes.“I understand what you’re saying. I really do, but I have to object.”  
“What? Why?” Bucky demanded, not really knowing what to say, because he hadn’t really been prepared for Steve saying no.  
“I can protect you. You-you can’t go back into the ice. I can’t lose you again.” Steve’s voice broke.  
Bucky laughed, short and surprised, “What? But, we don’t know what can happen-you saw-”  
“We can stay here in Wakanda, work you through it- sure it will be hard and long, and I know it’s not... right of me to ask this of you but-”  
“Christ, Steve, you actually want me to stay here with you, to-why?” Bucky’s eyes kept going from Steve’s eyes to his mouth. Bucky twisted his hands into Steve’s bedsheets, restraining himself from doing...something he knew he wasn’t supposed to do, he just couldn’t remember what it was, and to stop himself from staring at Steve’s perfect, perfect mouth. God, that mouth made him want to do things-he wasn’t sure what-couldn’t remember what, but was sure if he just stepped closer they would happen…couldn’t happen...  
“God, Buck, can’t you see? Everything-I’ve tried to- it's selfish, can't you see that? I am so goddamn selfish about you, always have been.”  
Bucky frowned, “What are you talking about?”  
Steve let out a shaky breath, running one hand through his hair. “You're the most important person in the world to me, our whole lives.” He glanced up, taking in Bucky's stunned face. “God, Buck, you gotta see it. It's you. It's always been you, it will always be you.”  
“What’s me?” Bucky whispered, but he knew. He remembered.  
“I love you, Buck.” And that’s what Bucky had been looking for, what he felt, what had always been there. “I always have. Always will. And-and I need you to stay with me, because otherwise I don’t have anything. It’s true. Sam’s in jail, the Avengers are broken up, I gave it all up for you. And if you go back-”  
A moment of stillness, and then—“God,” Bucky breathed, “God, Steve, come here,” and he leaned over just as Steve reached down to frame Bucky's face in his hands.  
Bucky gripped the front of Steve's shirt, melting into him, and for a second they just stayed there, clutching at each other, breathing the same air, and then Bucky nudged Steve's nose with his own, and Steve tipped his face up to slant their mouths together, firm and purposeful. This was one of the things-Bucky remembered now.“You-” Bucky said between kisses, “you kept me going all those years, through everything-” But he couldn’t say anymore, and as Steve kissed him stronger, deeper, Bucky gave up trying to. He showed Steve just how much Bucky loved him, because that was it-Bucky loved him.  
And when they woke up the next morning, side by side, what Bucky had secretly wanted all those years, Bucky told him so. “I love you too, Steve. And if you’re sure that we can work through this-that you can fix this,” Bucky gestured to himself, unable to continue, and Steve gave him a shit-eating grin.  
“Oh, I’m sure Buck. And I know just where to begin.” Bucky surrendered to the kissing, and just surrendered, because he didn’t need to fight anymore.


End file.
